


London Bridge

by Cynthialost



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Light-Hearted, London, M/M, One Shot, Short One Shot, Strangers, and im writing about block men supposedly falling in love at a bridge, but blink and you'll miss it, i have my finals in a few months, literally wrote this instead of doing homework, should i actually write more chapters, slash is slightly implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29466147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynthialost/pseuds/Cynthialost
Summary: George is a street musician, playing his violin at a well-known bridge in London.Dream is a farmer from the north, who decided to travel to the big city, in hopes of an adventure.What will he do when he catches sight of someone playing the violin so prettily?`````````````“That was beautiful…”, the stranger spoke softly, then added, “My name is Dream.”“…George.”, George replied, and gave a warm smile to the stranger. “I’m glad you liked it.”Dream gave out a short laugh.“Of course. I’ve only been in the city for a while, and yo-”, he paused, “…that, by far, was the most interesting thing to catch my eye.”“Oh, really now? I’m sure there are far more interesting things that would rather catch your eye than street music.”“I’m pretty sure there aren’t.”“Well why don’t I prove it to you?”, George found himself asking. “You look new around here, and you’re in London, mate. We could walk around town for a while – show you exactly what you’re missing.”Dream smiled.“That sounds nice… I would love that."
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	London Bridge

  


* * *

_ September 14th, 1973 – A small town, laying in the north of Old England. _

  
The newspaper was staring blanky at him.

Gentle words were printed across the page, calling out to him. They were loud, and daunting, like a lover suggesting that they do something senseless, and jump off a bridge for no one’s sake but their own.

Dream knew it was a bad idea, and yet, he couldn’t look away from the lingering promise.

The promise to leave his quaint little shack, to seek adventure in the city-side, and leave everything behind. He couldn’t see himself having a future in this farm of his.

The dusty wall paper of his house was slowly peeling off, and the creaking wooden floors were a step away from crumbling to dust. He took note of how the rising sun looked duller from the first day he bought the farm, as he gazed at the sky from his window forlornly.

  
Hazel-green eyes traced back over the words.

  
  


  


** OUR HUMBLE TOWN HAS IT’S FIRST TRAIN STATION – COME SEE FOR YOURSELF! **

_Get your tickets to the big city! Have an adventure!_

_One way ride to your brand-new future!_

  


****

****

No one could blame him for being drawn in by the calling. He had known about the new station being built in their town, had heard all the needless chatter about the steam engine that would soon arrive on the anticipated 15th.

  


Two hours from now, he would either live a healthy and stable life, or trade it for a moving box of coal with little to no money to his name, yearning for an adventure that was filled with unsettled possibilities.

  


Dream knew which option he’d rather face.

  


Grabbing his dark tattered coat and an old hat, the boy was soon out of his betrayed home, running down a gravelly path to a station he knew was only an hour’s walk away. His breaths were short, as he wondered what in the _world_ he was thinking, but the adrenaline soon started to set in, and he could tell that he had made the decision he _wanted_.

  


The train hadn’t even arrived by the time he stepped foot into the station.

  


There was an unwavering crowd of people, some leaning over the edge of the platform to see whether they could sight the train yet, despite knowing its arrival wasn’t due for several minutes or so. They were all wearing dark coats as well, seemingly to protect themselves from the soot of the coal-train.

With an amused huff of breath, Dream fell onto one of the unoccupied metal benches, and soon drifted off into a gentle nap.

He woke to ground vibrating beneath his very feet, the sound of excited whispers breaking out across the station, the dreaded horn that nearly tore his ears off when he finally heard it. With baited breath, he watched as the monstrous thing slowed down into a stop, its black paint gleaming in the sunlight.

People were frantically making their way into the now-empty compartments, and Dream found himself doing the same.

  
His ticket to London was here, and he wasn’t going spend a second wasting it.  
  


  


* * *

_ September 15th, 1973 – The Tower Bridge, London. _

  


Life was going smoothly for George.

Well, as smooth as it could be for a boy trying to make a living, only with a violin to his name.

The well-famous bridge he usually performed at was busier, as it had finally been rebuilt in March, and he was making twice as much as he normally would’ve before.

As of right now, he was playing the well-known nursery rhyme associated with the very bridge he was standing on, and the kids that happened to walk by were loving it, in turn dragging their parents over to see the lonely musician.

The parents would leave a few pounds, an awkward smile gracing their faces, and George would smile in return. He didn’t know whether they genuinely enjoyed his music, or were just leaving the coins solely for their kid’s sake, but he’d take it regardless – anything that could grant him a nice dinner at the end of the day.

  


As the night grew older, the number of people eventually began to dwindle, and George decided that the nursery rhyme he was playing would be his last piece.  
  


  
When he was wrapping up the final notes, however, a tall stranger started to make his way over to him.

George hadn’t noticed him earlier, between the London crowd, and the stranger’s unusual dark style in clothing, but now that he did...

Well, the violinist would be lying if he said the stranger didn’t intimidate him. The shadow casted by his ebony hat brought about a mysterious air to him, paired with his unnaturally tall height, George felt his instincts flare up at the ominous presence.

The stranger stepped closer, and frowned, when he took note that George was finished playing.

The crowd around them finally depleted.

The stranger looked up, and George saw the layer of soot that covered his otherwise tan face.

 _‘Ah, so he’s just a tourist then.’_ , George concluded in his head, relieved at the thought. _'_ _Won't be getting murdered after all…'  
_  
That would explain the stranger’s choice in clothing.

Coal-trains were a pain to travel on. Though George had only ever ridden once, he could never forget about the black stains that refused to be washed away from his favourite sweater.

He still had that sweater; he refused to give up on getting it clean again, being as stubborn as the coal-stains on it.

George was shaken out of his thoughts as the stranger finally spoke.

“Oh… you’re finished?”, he asked softly, and George took note of the foreign accent.

 _‘Must be from the North’_ , he wondered aimlessly, as he crouched down to pack away his earnings, and in turn, his violin.

“Yeah, I’m done for the night, mate.”, he said, and paused. “Sorry.”, he added, though he didn’t know what he was apologizing for.

“Could you please play another?”, the stranger asked. “If you don’t mind?”

George felt himself halting at the request.  


No one had ever asked him to play before.

People would come, watch for a while, leave a tip and be about on their merry ways, but no one had ever asked him outright to play a tune for them.

“…why?”, he found himself asking slowly, and the stranger seemed to waver at the question.

“Oh, I don’t mean to be rude or anything. I just saw you playing and it sounded… captivating. I knew the tune. My mother used to sing it to me all the time, and when you played it…”

The stranger didn’t finish the sentence, and George felt himself standing up with the violin in hand.

He knew he wasn’t going to get anything from this; the stranger didn’t seem to have anything on him. Yet, the thought of denying the stranger’s request felt almost… wrong.

George placed the violin back under his chin, holding the instrument by his right hand.

He drew the bow, and played out the same melody he was playing earlier. Only this time, he sang along with it.

  
He found himself getting lost in the song, having no one as an audience, save for the lone stranger. It felt easy to lose himself in the piece, and once he was done, he looked up, only to find a pair of awe-struck eyes staring back at him.

“That was beautiful…”, the stranger spoke softly, then added, “My name is Dream.”

“…George.”, George replied, and gave a warm smile to the stranger. “I’m glad you liked it.”

Dream gave out a short laugh.  
“Of course. I’ve only been in the city for a while, and yo-”, he paused, “…that, by far, was the most interesting thing to catch my eye.”

“Oh, really now? I’m sure there are far more interesting things that would rather catch your eye than street music.”

“I’m pretty sure there aren’t.”

“Well why don’t I prove it to you?”, George found himself asking. “You look new around here, and you’re in _London,_ mate. We could walk around town for a while – show you exactly what you’re missing.”

Dream smiled.  
“That sounds nice… I would love that - I _am_ new here, so it’d feel great to have a trusty tour-guide, right?”

“Sure would.”, George grinned, wrapping the straps of his instrument-bag around his shoulder. “Come on then, I know a killer place that sells the best fish ‘n chips in town. They cost only about a quid too!”

Dream whistled lowly, “That’s quite cheap…”, he pondered, as his lips twisted into a smile. “Lead the way then, my liege, I’ll be right by you.”

George scrunched his nose at the wording.  
“‘My liege’? Huh, what does that make you then, my loyal knight?”

“Hey, we could be just that in a different universe.”, a care-free grin was thrown his way. “Just… Imagine it. You’d be like… a reckless prince, who fell in love with his music and ran away from your kingdom to chase your dreams, and I could be your loyal knight, sharing your same choices, and in turn, deciding to help you in your many misadventures! You’d never know.”

Maybe it was the long night getting to him, maybe it was the fact that the words felt so familiar to reality, maybe it was the thought that nothing mattered quite as much now, but George found himself giggling uncontrollably at Dream’s ridiculous made-up story.

The other looked startled at George’s abrupt loss of composure, but soon joined in with him, giving out light airy laughs of his own as the two walked along the quaint bridge.

  


As George quieted down, he found himself grinning carelessly at Dream. He could see the two of them being good friends one day.

  


_Hah, as if,_ George thought slowly. _London bridge would have to fall for that to be true. Dream’s just a stranger; he’d eventually leave town to head back home. He won’t stay in London forever._

But George, of all people, should’ve known better to phrase a sentence like that.

  


_London bridge would have to fall for that to be true…_

  


He should’ve known exactly how that nursery rhyme went.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


**Author's Note:**

> started homework, gave up after two questions, somehow wrote a thousand words instead, bon appétit.
> 
> but seriously, thank you for reading, if you read whatever this is. I really appreciate it <3 <3 <3


End file.
